


Possibilities Boundless

by AJRedfern



Category: The 100
Genre: Bellarke, F/M, Harper + Monroe, Kabby (if you squint), Linctavia - Freeform, M/M, Minty (getting there), Or Harper/Monroe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-19
Updated: 2016-02-19
Packaged: 2018-05-21 15:06:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,867
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6056089
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AJRedfern/pseuds/AJRedfern
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Finale Goals:</p><p>- Everyone, a little bruised and worse for wear but safe and sound, back at the bar at Arkadia<br/>- Clarke having a drink with Raven (she got through the surgery like the champ she is)<br/>- The Delinquent boys walk in and crash Monroe and Harper's table (Jonty have gotten through the worst)<br/>- The boys yell at Clarke and Raven to join them (Raven: <em>'Jesus, Murphy, move your ass more, how the hell can I fit there?</em>' Monty: <em>'Here Clarke, you can squeeze between me and Bellamy.' </em>)<br/>- Everyone tries to comfort Miller because his idiot of a boyfriend broke up with him<br/>- In a combined effort to cheer up Miller, everyone throws in about their own screwed up love lives (insert breakup stories) and get steadily drunk<br/>- Harper, fed up of the angst and angry on behalf of her friends, yanks away Jasper's ipod (<em>'That belonged to Maya, you better be careful with it!' </em>), flounces off to the sound system, plugs it in<br/>- Sour Cherry by The Kills roars out through the speakers</p><p> This is what happens after.</p><p>*Written pre 305 airing*</p>
            </blockquote>





	Possibilities Boundless

**Author's Note:**

> Lot of angst happening right now *sigh*
> 
> Pre 305, I thought I'd make myself a little happier by putting these finale goals on paper. It's probably not going to happen but a girl can dream, right? :D
> 
> Hope it makes someone smile :)
> 
> xoxo

Sour Cherry by the Kills roar out of the speakers.

'Christ, is that really necessary?'

Bellamy turns away from Harper who's now striding to the bar like she's going to war and turns to see Murphy grimacing. 

'You're welcome to take her on.' he grins, teeth bared, 'My money's on Harper.'

The other boy just rolls his eyes at him.

'He wasn't good enough for you, anyway.' Monty tells Miller softly.

The whole table quiets and out of the corner of his eye, Bellamy sees Clarke duck her head to smile down at her drink. Sometimes it feels a little surreal that she's here, that she's really back and that she's staying. But that's her warmth seeping through the sleeve of his jacket where their arms have lined up and that's her low husky laugh he's hearing. So she's really here. The tightness in his chest loosens somewhat and he rotates his shoulders, trying to ease out the tension in them.

'Thanks, man.' Miller says, quietly.

The two lock eyes across the small table and Bellamy shakes his head. He opens his mouth - he's not sure what's he's going to say, probably something stupid -

'Don't.'

A finger, small and calloused, has hooked itself between his index finger and his drink and he looks down to see it belongs to Clarke.

He raises an eyebrow at her.

'Don't.' she repeats on a murmur and then her lips twitch when she takes in his expression, 'You're so impatient. They'll get there in their own time.'

A bottle slamming down on the table stops him from replying and Clarke turns her head to follow his gaze.

Harper has a hand on her hip, another topping off Miller's cup. 'You're gonna drink,' she commands, 'and then you're gonna to dance with me. On a table.'

'I'm not sure dancing on a table is going to do much for me.' Miller mutters but he's throwing back the shot.

Harper drains her own cup, 'Then you can air drum on a table.' she retorts, 'Come on.'

Then she's using Murphy's shoulder to heft herself up on to their table's surface, pulling Miller out of his seat to join her as Jasper starts hollering. The rest of them rescue their drinks and push their chairs backwards to avoid getting kicked in the face.

Bellamy's been on the receiving end of one of Harper's kicks and those damn combat boots leave a lasting painful impression.

Beside him, Clarke starts laughing as Harper struts down the table like she's modelling the angriest fashion line in existence and Miller's cheeks are flushed but he's drunk enough and he's doing an impressive impersonation of the rock gods of old. Jasper clambers on to the table next to them, lean arms pumping the air, feet slamming down on the metal surface in time to the song's vibrating beat.

'Jesus, is this what I've missing out on those Rover rides?'

Bellamy glances up at his sister's voice. She's staring at the three on the table with a mixture of fascination and horror.

'Pretty much.' he mutters.

Clarke leans over to pass O the bottle she had swiped from the table. 'Have a drink. Miller's boyfriend just broke up with him.'

‘Shit.’ O takes the bottle, throws back a mouthful, grimacing when the rotgut hits the back of her throat.

Without looking, she passes the bottle over her shoulder to Lincoln, who has come up behind her.

The Grounder cocks an eyebrow at the trio on the table but just tips the bottle in Miller’s direction before raising it to his lips. ‘Just as well.’ Lincoln remarks quietly, handing the bottle back to Bellamy, ‘The boy had weak blood. He was not a strong enough match for Miller.’

‘Monty said something similar.’ Clarke agrees, swirling her drink slowly.

‘Of course he would.’ O mutters.

She exchanges a smirk with Clarke and Bellamy shakes his head as Clarke returns her gaze forward. She’s smiling at Jasper’s wild fist pumps, Harper’s exaggerated poses, Miller’s head-banging air guitar antics but there’s a strange melancholic twist to her lips and Bellamy’s stomach tightens uneasily.

He knows what that smile means. It means she’s happy that everyone is alive but she’s wondering how many of them will sleep tonight and from that number, how many will be woken by nightmares before morning.

Bellamy knows which category he falls in – there’s enough grit stinging his eyes to remind him that he barely got two hours in last night – and he knows which one Clarke falls in by the haunted look in her eyes and the purplish shadows under them.

But then Jasper hops off the table and saunters over to Raven, draping himself dramatically over the brunette girl and Clarke’s eyes brighten when the mechanic raises her arms in the air triumphantly, cheering on Jasper’s impromptu lap dance. He pulls her from her chair, lifts her by the waist to sit her onto the surface of the nearest table, and Bellamy wonders if Raven remembers that several months ago, she would have broken anyone’s nose for such easy affection.

Her hip is still on the mend but Raven has become a lot more comfortable with asking for and accepting help. Bellamy suspects that Sinclair had a hand in that. Even so, Bellamy can count the people she’d allow to see her in such a vulnerable state on the fingers one hand . Abby had been surprised that Jasper was one of the few, but it makes sense to Bellamy. They had a lot in common - both had experienced what they had seen as a betrayal by a best friend, both had lost their first loves, both were still broken by it.

Still, here and now is a lot better than the place Raven was in after pushing Wick away.

A hand drops lightly on his shoulder, distracting him from his thoughts and O is pressing a kiss to temple.

‘Night, big brother.’ she says.

The words make him tighten his grip on the hand on his shoulder and O stills. There was a time when he thought he’d never hear those words again and the unexpected sound of them is enough to reach for his sister’s strength.

O lets him take what he needs from her, hooks her other arm around his neck and leans in against him. Her weight on his back and the feel of her slender arms around his neck is familiar and he swears he can still hear her girlish giggle over the hum of an Ark Station as she demands another piggy back ride.  His sister’s arms tighten on him and she bumps her forehead against the back of his head.

‘Love you, Bell.’ she murmurs.

‘Love you too, O.’ he mutters back.

She pulls away in a rush of leather-scented air, ruffles his hair and smirks when Bellamy scowls. Then she’s walking away, an arm around Lincoln’s waist, flicking out a wave to Clarke and throwing a grin at the room that has descended into chaos.

He turns to Clarke to say something about reining the Delinquents in but the words dry up in his throat when he finds her watching him steadily.

Its chilling just how much older her eyes are in comparison to her face. Bellamy knows his own face tells the same story, that Octavia’s, Lincoln’s, Raven’s, Miller – everyone  in this room has eyes too weary and haunted to belong in faces so young.

‘It's still riding you, isn't it?’ Clarke murmurs, eyes still on his.

Bellamy arched a brow.

She tilts her chin in the direction where O and Lincoln had disappeared. ‘Your estrangement from her. You knew it was necessary, but it drained more out of you than you showed.’

Bellamy draws in a slow breath. Yeah, he hated it. Hated how, at the beginning, O could barely look at him. How when she did, all he saw on her face was pain, disbelief and a hopefulness that was torn away every time he opened his mouth. And every time he destroyed that hope, it became harder and harder for her to retain it. Until the day all he saw was the rage and the pain. It was necessary but God, he hated it.

Clarke hadn’t really been around and he thought that he had it sufficiently hidden. He had forgotten about this girl who had slipped under his skin as easily as she had slipped out of his fingers months ago. He had forgotten how well she could read him, how she could take in his thoughts with a glance. There was no use lying to Clarke.

'Yeah.' he agrees quietly. 'But I'm dealing with it.'

Her eyes rake over him and she tilts her head, blonde waves spilling over a shoulder. 'You'll tell me if you can't though, right?'

'Does that mean you're sticking around this time?' The words slip out before he can stop them and Bellamy closes his eyes, curses himself for his stupidity. 'That was unfair, I'm sor -'

'It's okay. ' Clarke interrupts.

She's smiling but her lips are too tightly pressed together in a way that Bellamy knows means guilt and he feels like the worse ass on the ground.

'I should have….' she looks down at her cup, 'I should have done more than just left. But I couldn't stay, Bellamy, after -'

'Hey, you don’t need to explain.' he cuts in, nudging her shoulder with his own, trying desperately to find a way to turn the conversation, 'I got it. I get it.' Because he did, he really did. 'I just..shit. I guess I was just -'

'If you had left me after Mount Weather,' Clarke says softly, 'I would have felt betrayed. I would have understood but I would have still felt like you were walking away from me. After everything we'd had done, I would have been pissed. Confused. Worried. Angry. And I might still be now.'

Of course Clarke would get it.

'I'm sorry about the way I left you at Polis.' he mutters, 'I was pissed. We had just lost people again at Mount Weather and Gina…'

His voice trailed off as the memory of her smile flashes through his mind.

Gina.

Clarke's hand covered his.

'I'm sorry about Gina.' she whispers, head dropping to look at the ground, 'I didn't know her so my words might sound empty, but Raven -' she stops, breathes in. 'I am sorry you lost her, Bellamy.'

He squeezes her hand and Clarke lifts her head to give him a smile.

'And don't apologise for Polis.' Her hand squeezes his so hard that the bones in his fingers rub against each other, 'I wanted to explain everything, why I couldn't come home with you.' she whispers harshly, eyes burning into his, 'But there was no time to take you aside and I didn't want anyone to think of using you as some sort of leverage and I just - I'm sorry.'

Clarke really didn’t need to explain.

No point denying it, he had been pissed. But he had heard Clarke explain to her mother why she needed to stay - hell, he knew why it had to be her. It didn't make her refusal to come home any easier to swallow but pissed as he was, the rational part of his brain understood her choice.

So Bellamy just nudges her knee, offers her a grin and she blows out a breath, turns to lean her forehead against his shoulder.

Yeah, he had forgotten what this was like. To be able to fully explain yourself with the minimum of words. To be granted absolution without the outpour of guilt. He had forgotten just how easy it was with Clarke.

But there it was, there she was, and the knowledge and familiarity of her presence and their old rhythms seep into his chest.

They had never really talked about the cracks in their relationship before this. There was just too much other shit to deal with so their personal problems with each other got pushed to the side. Bellamy had always thought that it was because everything else was more important than their own issues - and in a way that was true.

But now, looking down at Clarke, the way she leans into him, the smile on her face as she watches their friends, Bellamy sees their ability to push past their unspoken problems in a new light.

Maybe it wasn't because their relationship was less important.

Maybe they were able to do it because their relationship was just as important. Because they both knew, on some level, that what they had - friendship, partnership, the unacknowledged emotion of more - was important enough, strong enough, to handle the tension of cracked trust. Because they both knew that their connection would hold up against whatever they had to deal with first until they had a chance like this.

'I missed you.' Clarke suddenly whispers against his arm, face still turned away. 'I missed you, Bellamy. Every day. So much that even now, even if you're standing right in front of me, I still miss you.'

The crack in her voice hurts him even as it sends his heart pumping harder. He doesn't know if she means the words the way he's hearing them or if alcohol is loosening her tongue.

He clears his throat. 'Anytime you need me to remind you that I'm right here, just say the words.'

Clarke breathes in deeply, straightens finally, looks him in the eye. 'Remind me.'

Bellamy stills, her whisper still echoing in his ears, and he tightens his fingers around hers as he leans in, presses his mouth to her forehead.

He doesn't know what he's going to say as he is pulling back. But it's a moot point because Clarke's eyes flick to the side as a shadow darts by, tenses and Bellamy only has time to brace when Harper launches herself at them.

'Come on, Clarke!' she yells over the music.

Then she's grabbing Clarke's other hand, tugging her to her feet and pulling her along.

Clarke's fingers slip from his but she turns to look at him over her shoulder before their hands completely lose contact. There's an apology in her eyes, but there's the glint of laugher too and she quirks her eyebrows at him in silent query.

'No.' Bellamy shakes his head firmly, lifts his hands up in surrender, 'Fuck no.'

He rather be shot than dance on a table.

Then his back goes straight when Clarke runs her eyes over him in a thoughtful, assessing look.

'Pity.' she mouths, grin sharp.

Then she's turning away, taking Miller's hand as he hefts her up next to him and she's accepting a shot from Murphy, throwing it back, her laughter cutting through the air.

And Bellamy can only sit there and watch her, heat under his skin, wondering what the hell had just happened.

****

He should tell them to tone it down because, Jesus Christ, it's almost three in the fucking morning and the common room really isn't all that far from the sleeping quarters.

But Bellamy can't bring himself to.

He looks at Clarke, at Miller, at Monty, at Harper, Jasper, Raven - everyone. Everyone in this room is broken in some way and a part of them might always be broken. They'll always feel it, that weight on their soul, that crack in their sanity. Some days it'll be hard to get out of bed, some days it'll be hard to look in the mirror, some days it'll be hard to smile. And during those days, they won't be okay.

But tonight, tonight they're okay with being broken, they're laughing and singing along to a song whose creators are now memories.

One day, they'll all be memories too and they need this to remind them that not every day was a bad one.

The singing isn't great, to be honest, and Bellamy cringes when melody is forsaken for volume. He had moved from his seat to the bar, keeping out of the way of the increasingly rowdy crowd which seems to have grown. Someone had put Sour Cherry on repeat and Bellamy's pretty sure its lyrics have been carved into his fucking brain by now.

Clarke's now standing on a chair in conversation with Monroe, cheeks flushed, hair a mess, sweat patching the material of her t-shirt. The drum beat rises, bass vibrating under his feet and his sight of the two girls are lost when half of the crowd scramble onto the surrounding tables and the volume in the room increases with bellowed out lyrics.

It's loud and obnoxious and its stubbornly defiant.

It's a giant middle finger to everything that had tried to tear them down, at everyone who thought they were too broken to be loved.

It's not pretty but life isn't pretty and this is the soundtrack of survival, the jarring clang of life amidst the tranquillity of death.

Bellamy grins to himself, leans back, elbows against the bar, and swings a leg onto an empty seat, settling back to watch his Delinquents.

Do not go peacefully into the night, indeed.

He hopes to God that each of them, when its their time to go, goes kicking and screaming and fighting the darkness.

'What in the world is going on here?'

Bellamy cranes his neck back to see Abby and Kane standing in the doorway of the Common Room.

Abby looks like she doesn't know whether to be amused or horrified at the scene in front of her but Bellamy notices that Kane is firmly pressing his lips together, an action that usually means he's trying to hold back a smile.

When they turn towards him, he grins and tips his cup in their direction. 'Ma'am, Sir.'

'Would you care to explain the meaning of this, Major?' Abby asks as they come to a stop in front of him, brows rising.

Major.

God, that felt weird.

He had gone from Cadet to Dishonourably Discharged to the leader of his own militia to Officer to Major in the span of two years. Regarding official rank in the Guard, the only person he answers to now is the Commander of the Guard. He had balked at first, but Kane had insisted.

Despite the older man's quietly impassioned speech about responsibility and sacrifice, Bellamy suspects that part of Kane's reasoning behind the promotion is that he had too much influence and authority over members of the Guard for an Officer anyway. Not a stretch since a good deal of them were from his own Gunners. But morale is not going to increase every time an Officer goes maverick and other Guards blow off every superior up the ranks to follow him.

In Kane's words: 'It might as well become official.'

Bellamy had accepted the post, drily amused. Even if Kane's regained trust and belief in him had loosened a knot in his chest.

He clears his throat, shooting a meaningful glance at the crowd behind Kane and Abby. 'Thought it might be kinda self-explanatory, Vice Chancellor.'

She narrows her eyes at him, recognising his use of her title for what it was - blatant insubordination. Her glare would have probably be more worrying if Bellamy hadn't known that Abby had been the one to back Kane's nomination.

He throws her a bland smile.

Griffin women are surprisingly fun to wind up.

'Let them have their fun, Abby.' Kane murmurs, looking over his shoulder at Jasper and Raven, 'God knows they deserve it more than they've been given opportunities.'

Abby sighs but her backward glance softens when it lands on her daughter and Harper giggling over a shared cup.

Her sigh becomes regretful as she turns to Kane, 'Marcus, we've had complaints from other Arkers -'

'We've had one official complaint and hearsay of other complaints.' Kane interjects wryly, 'And we both know you've been itching to have a go at Lucretia Smith.'

Abby folds her arms across her chest, rolling her eyes, looking startlingly like her daughter, 'The woman thinks she's entitled to more than the rest of us. After months on the ground, you'd think she's understand that _everyone_ works here to survive. There is no -'

Kane lays a calming hand on her shoulder as Abby continues to mutter darkly and Bellamy looks away in order not to laugh.

He's crossed paths with Lucretia Smith and while her disapproving sniffs and pointed glares slides off his back, he's always relieved that she'd never lower herself to speak with the likes of him. Abby, though. Abby Griffin, fellow past-Alpha Station resident, Head of Medical, ex-Chancellor and current Vice Chancellor, was a different story. She would have harangued Abby for perceived slights.

' - if they don't check out, I'll have a word with Lucretia.' Abby finishes.

Bellamy senses that Lucretia Smith's self-imposed reign of superiority is coming to an end.

'Good night, Bellamy.' she mutters as she sweeps past him, 'Make sure things don't get too out of hand, will you?'

''Night, Abby.' he bites his lip to stop himself from smiling.

Kane's hand comes down on his shoulder, squeezes briefly before letting go.

'Sir.' he quietly replies to Kane's silent farewell.

Then he's alone at the bar again.

He's not alone for long when Harper jumps down from the table and practically skips over to him. Her fair face is flushed from the alcohol and exertion, blonde hair darkened with sweat, wide smile. For once, her brown eyes are not shadowed by the memories of Mount Weather or the war she had just survived and they are bright and glittering.

Bellamy watches her warily as she makes her way to him but she only chirps out a cheery, 'Excuse me.' and hefts herself up, belly down, onto the surface of the bar next to him. He watches in amusement as her head and an arm disappear from view before she lets out a muffled cheer and wiggles back to her feet.

'Interested?' she grins at him, brandishing a bottle.

He pushes his cup over to her, still wordlessly amused. She pours him a finger before swigging straight from the bottle.

Bellamy sips his own drink.

His drinking habits are well known by the Delinquents - he's never opposed to a drink at the end of the day but unless he has a damn good reason, he imbibes much less than the others do. Too many things can happen where he needs a clear head and after watching Jasper spiral into alcoholism, he never really has more than two drinks a day.

Then Harper tenses next to him and Bellamy goes on alert.

His eyes goes to Clarke immediately but she's now seated next to Raven and they're cheering on Monty who, red-faced and smiling bashfully, lets Miller pull him up onto the table's surface next to him.

Nothing wrong there.

'She wouldn't dare.' Harper breathes, low and fierce.

Bellamy tears his gaze away from Clarke, glances up at Harper, and follows her glare.

Across the room, a tall girl is talking to Monroe, her face entreating, the young Guard's shoulders tight.

He tries to place a name to the face.

Amber...Auburn something….Alburn - that's it, Alburn.

He's seen them together a couple of times over the past couple of months and remembering Harper's meaningful look at Monroe when the subject of exes came up, makes the connection.

Bellamy's not one to get involved in relationship drama but there's enough alcohol being consumed in this room to down a zoo. Considering the subject matter of the song currently on repeat, things can get ugly really fast.

'Harper.' he says warningly.

'She dumped Monroe twice, Bellamy.' Harper snaps. 'I watched my best friend get her heart stomped on. Twice. And now, she's angling for a third time.'

'You don't know the full story.' Bellamy murmurs but the words leave a sour taste in his mouth.

Monroe needs added drama in her life the way she needs a hole in the head. The kid had suffered enough.

Harper turns to look at him and Bellamy fights the urge to shift uneasily as she studies him thoughtfully, 'Sometimes others on the outside see the story more fully than the ones experiencing it.'

What the hell is that supposed to mean?

But before he ask her, Harper is turning away to watch Monroe and Alburn with a scowl on her face.

'Alburn's trying to "fix" Monroe. She says that Monroe's too young to be serving in the Guard, that if she wasn't carrying a gun all the time or going off to battle, she'd be able to sleep at night. She says that Monroe should leave it up to the adults.' Harper whispers. 'She has a point but…but that's who Monroe is - gunner, fighter, she's never going to stand back and let others fight for her. For her friends. That's who she is now. That's who we are now.'

He agrees.

Monroe, it seems, has adapted amazingly well to life as a Guard. It gave her stability and discipline. But it also gave her purpose possibility, it was also a way for her to protect her friends, to have the authority to do so, it was a means for her to train and become faster, stronger, more able to offer that protection. She took her duties seriously and Bellamy is betting on her climbing the ranks in quick succession.

Then as Harper's words sink in further, Bellamy's gaze turns to Clarke.

She's smiling and laughing now but he doesn't doubt that she's a different person to the one that landed. She's been through too much, seen too much, done too much. He still wouldn't change a single aspect of the person she is now. And he can't imagine wanting to change Clarke, to stop her from being who she is - even if he knows the person she is, stubborn as a rock with a tendency to scare him half to death with the risks she takes, might cost Clarke her life one day.

He straightens suddenly at the heat on his neck and tries not to think of the fact that he had just compared himself and Clarke to Monroe and her girlfriend.

Jesus, he might have drunk more than he thought. Or maybe, if he's lost control of these thoughts, it's really time to pull his head out of the sand.

'Monroe's a smart kid, she - .' he stops, flicks a finger at the two girls. 'Scratch that, looks like she's already figuring it out.'

Across the room, Monroe is stepping away, shaking her head slowly, untangling her fingers from Alburn's.

'That's my cue.' Harper grins.

She stops when Bellamy's arm slashes out.

'Don't start anything.' he warns.

Harper smirks. 'I won't throw the first punch, promise.'

'And don't provoke her.' Bellamy throws back.

'Fine.' Harper scowls but nods, folding her arms across her chest. 'Permission to use reasonable force to defend myself and or others should the need arise.'

Bellamy studies her, tries to find a loophole in her formally worded request and can't.

'Granted.' he allows, 'But for godsake, Harper, she's a civilian. If it comes to it, pull your damn punches.'

Harper finally grins, salutes him with the bottle, 'Yes, sir.' she calls over her shoulder.

Bellamy watches as she saunters over to Monroe, grabs her friend's hand and tugs. Monroe, a relieved look on her face, follows willingly. He has to hold down a laugh at a clearly furious Alburn who watches Harper sling an arm around Monroe's neck, bottle dangling from her fingertips, the fingers of her other hand coming up to flick at Alburn in a clear 'shoo' motion while mouthing 'Go home, it's over.' in perfect timing with the song's lyrics.

But as entertaining as Harper's antics are, Bellamy's eyes return to Clarke.

She's joined Monty and Miller on the table and he clears his throat when she executes a little hip sway that has heat searing the back of his neck. When she throws back her head in a laugh, gold waves bouncing, the sound of her laughter reaches him and Bellamy finds himself smiling in response.

God, Clarke Griffin.

Who would have known?

Then again, of course it would be Clarke Griffin.

It doesn't come as a surprise - he's known for a while now.

Should have figured it out when her confessed fear at the thought of losing him rendered him speechless. Struggled to understand it when she said, 'It's worth the risk.' and his stomach plunged and his chest ached. Pushed it aside when her voice came through, relief clear through the static, over a radio and calmed his jittering nerves. Used it when he opened that door, his sister in his arms, but it was the sight of her that injected fire into his veins. Finally began to understand when he let her go and felt his heart splinter.

But he didn't truly understand until he found himself staggering and bleeding through a forest, desperation bitter in his lungs. He didn't really get it until the certainty that he had lost her set in and the thought of it almost sent him to his knees.

Then he'd known.

His best friend. His partner. His ally. The warmth at his shoulder and in his chest.

It wasn't easy, living with that knowledge, and most days, he buried it deep.

Then Clarke's eyes meet his, she's sending him a flashing smile and Bellamy thinks that maybe, maybe it was time to accept it.

Bellamy straightens from his seat, tilts his chin and turns, heading for the entrance of the Common Room. He knows Clarke would get his unspoken message.

He wasn't wrong.

He's just closing the narrow locker door when she walks in, blocking the light from the hallway.

Face dappled in shifting shadows, she raises a brow at the bare walls of the Training Room, the well used training dummy in the corner, but doesn't comment. Its quiet here but they can still hear the muffled cheers, the bass through the walls.

There's barely any light in the room except for the floodlights coming in through the windows.

With Clarke there, the room seems a lot smaller than it did seconds ago.

'Did I read you right and you wanted to see me?' she asks drily, voice hoarse from laughter, 'Or did I just walk into something awkward?'

Bellamy snorts but doesn't reply and lifts the bottle he had unearthed from his locker instead.

Clarke watches him walk towards her, tilting her head back when he comes to a stop in front of her and taps a finger against the bottle. 'I don't think we should be giving that lot more alcohol - at this rate, they'll clear the stores out.'

From this distance, he can see the sweat darkening her blonde hair at the temples, hear the rub of material against skin as she shifts on her feet, smell the cider sweet on her breath and his belly clenches. He clears his throat, turns his attention back to the bottle he's holding and pours an amount into the small tin cups he had also stored.

'Bellamy?' Clarke's voice comes out as a whisper and it brushes against his skin.

They're standing so closely together that the fingers of the hand holding the cups brush her t-shirt. He could blame it on the alcohol but he doesn't bother to lie to himself anymore. And if Clarke had a problem with their proximity, she would have moved away.

She hadn't.

Still not speaking, he hands her a cup.

She takes it, fingers warm against his, eyes flicking up to meet his. There's a question on her face but he just offers her a smile.

'Bellamy -'

'Shut up, Griffin.' he murmurs mildly and taps his cup against hers.

Her brow goes up but laughter now replaces the concern in her gaze and her lips twitch. She rolls her eyes, lifts her cup in his direction and together, they drain their cups.

'Now can I talk?' Clarke snarks but she's whispering again.

He licks his lips, tries not to notice that Clarke's eyes dart down to his mouth when he does.

'Every time I talk to you about getting a drink,' he murmurs, holding her gaze, 'shit happens. Figured if I didn't say the words, maybe we'd finally make it.'

Clarke had gone still.

She looks down at the cup in her suddenly trembling hand, the bottle in his, lifts her head to scan his face, conflicting emotions flashing across her own.

Pain. Joy. Relief. Fear. Surprise. Wariness. Hope. And another emotion that describes the warmth in his chest whenever he looks at her.

God, Clarke.

'Bellamy.'

It's all she says and it's still just a whisper, but really, it's all she needs to say because he can hear everything she wants to say in the way she breathes his name.

'I, uh, walked straight to the bar after you left. Grabbed this,' he lifts the bottle, 'but I couldn't drink it.'

'So you kept it?' Clarke says softly, eyes on the bottle.

'Yeah.'

'For when I came back?'

'I hoped you would.'

Her head tilts to the side, 'You were hurt, angry and you still kept it?'

Bellamy laughs softly but it breaks, 'I was coming out of my fucking skin, Clarke, but it doesn't mean I stopped caring.'

'Bellamy.'

Her voice is husky from more than just the laughter she had shared with their friends and he can hear everything she wanted to say again.

Then Clarke takes a step forward and straight into him, burying her face in his t-shirt.

His arms come up and wrap around her automatically, ignoring the clink the cup makes against the bottle he's holding by the neck.

Bellamy doesn't say anything about the way she's trembling in his arms or about how his t-shirt becomes damp with her tears. Clarke doesn't say anything about the way he buries his face into her hair, breathing her in, or about the way his arms tighten to the point of pain around her.

They don't speak.

They just stand there, pressed together in the dark, shadows shifting under their feet, light shifting across their shoulders, the sound of their friends' laughter in the distance and the sound of their own heartbeats in the still air.

Slowly, Clarke pulls back but not away, still keeping her free hand pressed against his stomach, the warmth of her fingers seeping through his thin t-shirt to his flesh.

Bellamy wonders if she can feel the butterflies under her fingertips.

It's on the tip of his tongue to ask but he doesn’t.

Because the air between them has turned too heavy for such a light-hearted question and he'd break his own arm before he breaks this.

Clarke lifts her face, cool blue-tinted light shifting across it, meets and holds his gaze and Bellamy's chest goes tight. The way she looks at him - eyes glittering, lashes spiked with tears is soft, unguarded and it mirrors everything he's feeling. She's looking at him like she could stand with him like this forever, like he's the only person in existence, like she would fade away from this world if she ever tore her eyes away.

Clarke's looking at him like she needs him to breathe.

It's exhilarating and soothing, it makes him want to laugh and never stop, makes him want to go to his knees and press his face against her belly. But it also scares the hell out of him. Because what if he gives in to this and loses her? How can he ever put the pieces of himself back together again if the loss of her shatters him?

But some reckless part of him doesn't care about that - only cares that Clarke Griffin is standing there, looking at him the way she is. And he has listened to that reckless side too many times to count to stop now. Not now, not when it matters too much.

The sound of the cup hitting the floor as he releases it, is loud and jarring in the room.

Clarke doesn't even blink, just keeps her eyes on his.

Never breaking her gaze, Bellamy moves his free hand, rests his fingertips against her wrist.

Her shadowed eyes flicker at the light touch but she still doesn't move.

Slowly, his fingertips move up her forearm, gliding gently across her skin, halts at her elbow.

 _I want you_ his touch whispers.

Now, now Clarke's lashes flutter and her lips part and while her gaze never moves from his, it turns warm. Trying not to rush this, to give her time to pull away if she changed her mind, Bellamy forces his feet not to move, to remain where he is.

His fingertips move up, brushing against the inside of her elbow, and slowly up the outline of her upper arm.

 _I love you_ his touch says.

His fingers encounter soft material where her skin ends but the heat follow as they trail up to her shoulder, and finally her neckline gives way to warm skin.

 _I'm in love with you_ his touch communicates.

As Bellamy traces the line of her collarbone, Clarke's eyes drift close and she sways, her hand pressing harder into his belly as she catches herself. When his fingers reach her neck and glide up, Clarke's eyes fly open and she trembles under his touch.

It takes everything in him not to take what her eyes are offering.

Instead, jaw clenched tight, Bellamy slides his fingers around to the back of her neck and up into her thick hair, tilting her head back, tipping her mouth up. Clarke stares at him, unmoving and silent but the hand she has on him fists in his t-shirt, and her breaths come harder.

They stand there, suspended for a still moment. Then Clarke's hand pulls and he's stepping into her, their bodies aligning perfectly, pressed together from chest to thigh.

Bellamy stares down at Clarke, at the way her warm gaze lowers to his mouth, flickers up to his eyes, the unspoken invitation hanging between them.

All he has to do to lean forward an inch to give them both what they want.

Her hand between them, fisted in his t-shirt, tightens and gently tugs again.

And he's lost.

He gives in, leans in, watching Clarke's face as she tilts her mouth up, her eyes drifting close. He's so close he can taste the cider on her breath.

But he's also close enough that he saw the fear that flickered in her eyes right before they closed and he stills.

Every molecule in his body screaming, Bellamy tilts his head slightly and instead, presses his lips to the corner of Clarke's mouth.

It's not a kiss. But his lips brush the corner of hers too closely not to be counted as anything other than a kiss.

It's not a kiss but it is and it encapsulates everything they are right now.

Against him, Clarke's body shudders and there's another clang in the quiet as she drops the cup she's holding and her arm comes up to his shoulder. She turns her face to press it against the side of his and he realises with a jolt she's crying when a drop, warm and wet, hits his cheekbone and slides down to catch on the line of his mouth.

'I'm sorry.' Clarke whispers in his ear, husky and frustrated and broken.

He's not.

Bellamy pulls back to look at her fully, the taste of her tears salty on his tongue.

Her eyes are wide, shimmering, pleading for understanding, anger swirling in their depths. He wants to laugh - not at her, not at their situation, but at the fact that Clarke would ever think that she needed to apologise for not being ready for something as potentially life-altering as this.

'Don’t' be.' he tells her quietly. 'How ever long you need.'

Her eyes close and she slumps forward to rest her forehead against his chest.

'I won't need long.' she says, words hot against his skin. 'I promise, Bellamy. Just a little more time. Don't give up on me. Please.'

Bellamy grins at that. 'No chance in hell of that happening.'

If he's being honest with himself, Bellamy wants Clarke to take all the time she needs. He knows she's sure, she wouldn't still be standing in his arms if she wasn't, but he wants her to be ready. And he's willing to wait for how ever long it'll take for her to feel ready for this. For them. Clarke's been through too much and he's not surprised she's gun shy. He wants her to take the time she needs to get used to the idea of them, the idea of him, the idea of a shared life in every aspect of the word.

Because he knows, once she's ready, once Clarke gives in, he's never letting her go.

****

He's woken by loud thumping footsteps, giggles quickly shushed.

Bellamy blinks his eyes open, disorientated when he realises he's staring up at an unfamiliar ceiling, weak sunlight slanting across it.

Then the previous night - three hours ago, actually - comes into memory and he recognises the weight on his arm and at his side for what it is.

Clarke.

He can't stop the foolish grin when he sees the top of Clarke's head, blonde hair obscuring her face, waves spread across his chest, against his neck making his skin itchy, one arm around his waist, one thigh heavy across his hips.

Clarke Griffin, it seems, is a full contact sleeper.

He doesn't have a problem with that.

Not. A. Single. Problem.

On his other side, the bottle lies on it's side, it's contents safe behind it's cork.

They had made a good dent in it last night, cups forgotten as they swigged from the bottle, sitting on the thick training mats on the floor. But the alcohol was starting to hit and they had started to slur which had made them laugh even harder. Bellamy can't really remember what they had talked about but whatever it was, left a good clean feeling in his stomach.

In the end, Clarke had crawled on all fours looking for the cork on the dark floor, ignoring Bellamy's appreciative grin, and muttering that they needed to save the rest of the bottle for the next special occasion.

He hadn't protested.

'Maybe they're in here.'

Bellamy's attention snaps to the closed door of the training room just as it opens.

Monty and Miller stumble in, blinking around.

Their eyes land on him and Clarke and Bellamy lifts a hand warningly when Monty goes wide eyed, opening his mouth. Miller slaps a hand over the other boy's mouth.

'Shh.' Miller whispers loudly, 'Clarke's still sleeping.'

Monty nods solemnly and offers Miller a sloppy smile when Miller removes his hand.

Ah Jesus, they're still drunk.

Then Raven walks in behind them, eyes landing on Clarke wrapped around him, Bellamy's hand in her hair, and her smile sharpens.

Jesus, wish _she_ was still drunk.

'Good night?' Raven asks archly, not bothering to lower her voice.

'Shhh!' Monty snaps. 'Clarke's still sleeping.'

His voice is much louder than Raven's and Bellamy closes his eyes in silent resignation.

Beside him, Clarke stirs.

'Bellamy?'

Her voice is heavy and rough with sleep and Bellamy decides, for now, this is his favourite from all the ways Clarke says his name.

'Right here.' he murmurs.

She burrows deeper into his side in reply and her arm across his waist tightens.

'Rise and shine, Griffin!'

Raven's voice cuts through the moment, sharp and cheerful, and Bellamy would gladly strangle her.

Clarke's head jerks up, nearly hitting him in the jaw, blonde hair flying everywhere. She shoots up into a sitting position, head turning to look at Raven and the boys.

Bellamy follows a lot more slowly.

Yep, he thinks, he'd gladly strangle the grinning mechanic.

'Kane needs you in the Council Room.' Raven chirps. 'And your mother says to spread the word that she's allowing one day of sick leave on account of a hangover provided that the person can find a suitable replacement for duties.'

'Crap.' Clarke mutters, rubbing at her eyes, 'Okay.'

She still hasn't looked at him and Bellamy only has a second to wonder if Clarke had any misgivings about last night when she turns, leans straight into him, face in his neck, and Bellamy's arm automatically comes up to circle her waist.

She pulls back, offers him an apologetic smile. 'Sorry, I'm going to have to run out on you.'

One side of her face is sleep creased, eyes tired and bloodshot, purple shadows under her eyes, her hair is a tangled mess of blonde waves and the scent of alcohol clings to her skin.

Bellamy still can't remember a time she had been more beautiful than in this moment. 'It's hard being in charge.'

Then she's rolling her eyes, leaning forward and casually pressing a kiss to his cheek like she's done this a million times before.

'Stubble.' she mutters as she hefts herself up to her feet, 'I like it.'

Bellamy has no idea whether she's talking to him or herself but he thinks he can go a day without shaving.

He's up and following her as Raven holds the door open, grinning so widely it's slightly terrifying.

'I see you two got your heads out of your asses.' the brunette smirks, 'Finally.'

'Shut up, Raven.' Bellamy mutters but there's no heat in his words.

Clarke just sighs.

Bellamy stops, watches the way Monty and Miller lean against each other, swaying and he shakes his head. 'Have you two gotten any sleep at all?'

Monty just blinks at him.

Miller clears his throat. 'Well, Jasper went to bed.'

Clarke snorts and Bellamy huffs out a breath.

'You got this?' she asks, pausing at the door, Raven in the hallway.

He nods, waves a hand. 'Yeah. Go ahead.'

'When you're done pouring these two into bed,' Raven calls, 'Kane wants to see you too.'

Clarke meets Bellamy's gaze and she raises a brow.

He lifts a shoulder.

Whatever the hell it is now, they'll handle it.

Then he's watching Clarke walk off with Raven. It's almost like every other day, nothing out of the ordinary. At the end of the hallway, Clarke turns back to throw him a smile over her shoulder before they round the corner.

It's a smile that he has seen over and over again but it also contains a heightened nuance.

Bellamy wonders how everything seemed to have not changed at all whilst changing completely.

After last night, they feel unfinished, him and Clarke.

He should feel dissatisfied but Bellamy's not.

Because, like this, nothing is set in stone. Like this, they can be whoever they want to be, do whatever they need to, write their own story instead of having it written.

Like this, no matter where they currently are in life, whether he and Clarke are standing next to each other or on opposite sides of a battleground, their story would never be over.

Bellamy hopes to God they'll remain like that.

Unfinished.

Possibilities boundless.


End file.
